Not A City Of Angels
by thelilacfield
Summary: There could be no question that slender fingers sliding timidly between his and the warm curve of a palm that seemed familiar, despite knowing he had only seen this boy once before, were drawing Blaine towards the edge of a cliff, and he couldn't be more willing to simply fall.


**Pairing:** Kurt/Blaine

**Rating:** NC-17/M

**Story Warnings/Kinks: **Dystopian society, non-con, infidelity, character death, violence, discrimination, war, murder

**A/N:** Title taken from _On The Willows_ from Godspell, a song also included in this chapter.

* * *

Nudging Burt's chin up, Kurt knotted his father's tie with practised fingers, straightening it carefully and giving him a bright smile. Both father and son glanced over as the cheerful voice on the radio announced, "And here we have the governor of this beautiful city, William Smythe, to speak about the recent break-ins at the barrier wall. So, governor, what measures are being taken to prevent those rebelling against class standards disturbing our society?"

"As we speak, a team of construction workers are reinforcing the wall with concrete and building it higher, and we are extending our security patrols from sixteen to twenty-four hours a day," Smythe said in his silken, calculating voice, sending shudders of revulsion down Kurt's spine. "We are taking any attempts of the poor to infiltrate and walk among us very seriously. Any rebels caught will receive a severe punishment."

Burt switched the radio off, shaking his head, expression resigned as he watched the fury and disgust flicker across his son's face, raising a scolding eyebrow as Kurt clattered their bowls and cutlery into the sink with unnecessary violence. "Dad, you're a junior governor, you must be able to do something about their awful treatment of the poor!" he exclaimed, folding his arms belligerently over his chest.

"Kurt, you know the ease of life we have hangs by a thread, and it all depends on how I behave in government," Burt said gruffly, gazing with honest eyes on his oldest son. "I don't like the way they treat this rebellion, and I protested with my friends back when I was your age and they first built the wall to divide the rich and the poor, but I can't do anything about it without risking Finn's, Carole's and your safety, and I won't put my family in danger in the name of politics." Seeing the flash of fire in his son's eyes, Burt chuckled softly and murmured, "You are just like your mother. You want a society of equality and opportunity for all, and to have the Smythe family out of government. But please, kiddo, keep your mouth shut about your beliefs. Your mother didn't, and I lost her because of it."

Cold stole through Kurt's veins and he wrapped his arms around himself, nodding slowly. The memory still seemed fresh, as if it had happened a mere hour ago, and not eight months shy of ten years previously. He could still smell the freshly-cut grass on an unseasonably cold breeze when his eight year old self had heard shouting and crying, padding barefoot out of his bedroom to find men clothed all in white dragging his mother away, ignoring her screaming and kicking and his father's shouting and cries for help, throwing her unceremoniously into the back of their van and driving away. Her ashes had been sent to them in a small blue jar a week later.

White for peace, for the keepers of contentment in their unfair society, infecting young minds with the poison of the words dictated by their government, the lies planting themselves within children eager to learn, spreading ignorance and discrimination throughout the land. If not for the children such as Kurt, who saw the dark side of what was laid out before them as normality at a young age, little would be seen but for what Smythe wanted them to see. Everyone was so blind, yearning to believe that they lived in a perfect world, a utopia, that they turned away from the evidence of something evil lurking just below the surface. If they only scratched away that thin layer of dust that veiled their eyes from the truth, they would see Smythe for what he truly was: no more than a villain.

Kurt watched his father bid goodbye to Carole, the two of them exchanging a tender kiss and soft words of comfort before he left, sliding into the sleek black car that pulled up outside their house. He waited only a minute, for Carole to kiss his cheek as she bustled past to her car, heading to work, before he picked up the phone and dialled Rachel. "Berry household, Rachel speaking, how can I help you?" she asked sweetly.

"It's Kurt, are you still meeting me behind the jewellery store?" Kurt asked, lowering his voice as Finn walked past the kitchen door, a thrill running through his veins at rebelling against societal expectations like this. "Remember, cotton clothes only, and no jewellery."

"Not even my engagement ring?" Rachel gasped in horror.

"Rachel, the diamond on your engagement ring is the side of a gull's egg, it would almost certainly give us away," Kurt teased gently, picturing her face blotched with embarrassed red on the other end of the line. "Meet me in ten minutes, and remember what I said: incognito. I don't care how much you love your red skirt, we are trying to blend in, not stand out. People on the other side of the wall often can't afford the necessary dyes for red, they're too expensive."

Dressed in suitably dull beige pants, a deep green sweater and his favourite and decidedly battered black boots, Kurt lurked in the shadows behind the display windows glittering with jewels shining in the light of the sun. A fond smile came over his lips when he found Rachel scurrying towards him, her dark hair concealed beneath the hood of her dark blue sweater, heather grey jeans clinging to her legs and feet encased in trainers that appeared to be falling apart around her.

"Perfect," he observed, taking her hand and twirling her to look over every inch of her outfit. "The very definition of incognito."

"It's Finn's sweater, he left it behind last time he stayed," Rachel confided, sliding her hand into the crook of Kurt's elbow as he guided her through the quiet cobbled streets, trying to remember every sudden turn Brittany had taken when she'd shown him her secret hideaway. "It still smells like him, it helps when he can't see me because he's with all those car parts and oil."

Kurt shushed her frantically, tremors wracking his body as he tugged her down into the tangled leaves and branches of the bushes marking the boundary wall, scanning carefully for any guards patrolling the perimeter. Finding none, he leapt up to hang from the lowest branch of a tree, offering a hand to help Rachel up, ignoring her fussing about moss stains and splinters to creep over the narrow branch. It shivered under his weight, and Rachel squealed in fear, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeaks of fright. Edging nervously further, Kurt nodded encouragingly to her, staying still to keep their narrow pathway steady as she crept cautiously towards him.

Like the gentleman his father had raised him to be, he allowed her to climb down onto the top of the wall first, picking her way delicately around the circles of barbed wire that were supposed to deter anyone from daring to climb over into another world, nailed into the brick. Following her, he smiled at the rush of freedom through him, spreading his arms as if he was flying. At the familiar slide of Rachel's fingers between his, he smiled over at her and they jumped together, flying through the air before landing lightly on their feet in the dusty ground.

"Doesn't this feel amazing?!" Rachel asked loudly, looping her hair behind her ear and tugging fussily on the bottom of her sweater, straightening it out after their fall. "I feel so free. No one expects anything of me here. I'm free."

Her eyes ran over a man striding past them, who gave her a flicker of a wicked smirk, and Kurt poked her hard in the side. "You are engaged to my brother," he hissed to her as she tugged him off towards the sounds of music and laughter.

"A ring on your finger doesn't take away your right to look, silly," Rachel said, elbowing him lightly, closing her eyes to let the music wash over her. "That music makes me feel just _alive_. Come on, let's go! You can be my dancing partner."

Kurt wasn't given a chance to protest before Rachel pulled him into the ground, sliding her arms around his neck and lacing her fingers together behind his head, coercing, "Stop looking so scared and work those hips, Hummel!"

He had to admit, being at the festival did make him feel so much freer. He hated that they were both lying to their loved ones, but it was worth it to steal away for a few hours and escape the shackles of their society's expectations. They were surrounded by people with bright faces, dancing with each other and whirling from person to person, free and flirty and fun-loving, nothing similar to the expected monogamy of the richer city.

A girl with bright pink cropped hair pushed past them, hand-in-hand with the man Rachel had been gazing shamelessly at earlier, the two of them pressing into a hard kiss. Kurt watched in fascination as she placed two cigarettes between her crimson-painted lips, lighting both and giving one to the man. It was such a curiously intimate gesture, especially when the man cradled her against him with two large hands at the small of her back, her looking so tiny and fragile against his broad shoulders and chest.

Crackling interrupted the music, and Kurt looked up to see a blonde man standing on the stage, grinning around at them all with a megaphone held to his lips. "Okay, everybody, I've got my boy Blaine up here to sing for you all, but he needs a duet partner," he announced, and immediately people around Kurt started clamouring to be noticed, jumping up and down and waving at the stage.

Rachel pushed Kurt forward and he stumbled, nearly falling into the dirt, for a pretty dark-haired girl to grab him by the shoulder and haul him upright. "Think we need our Blaine singing with klutzy here, Sam," she said, shoving Kurt up the three short steps onto the stage, Sam grabbing his hand and hoisting it into the air as if he'd won some great battle.

Kurt turned, looking for the man he was expected to sing with, and found something to take his breath away. Blaine was beautiful, dark-haired and olive-skinned, golden eyes shining at Kurt as he tugged a pair of stools over and gestured to him to sit down, strumming experimentally on his guitar. "These are the lyrics," he said in a disarmingly smooth voice, smiling charmingly at Kurt in a way that made his knees turn liquid despite the fact that he was sitting down. "I'll give you a sign of when to come in, okay?"

Nodding dumbly, Kurt let his eyes drift to Blaine's finger on the guitar strings, skilful and drawing a beautiful medley from the instrument, his mind conjuring up images of those same hands on him, drawing a symphony of moans from his lips. He sank into the beauty of Blaine's voice as it rang out across the silent crowds, his eyes warm on Kurt's and a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

_"On the willows, there, we hung up our lyres  
For our captors there required  
Of us songs and our tormentors mirth."_

Blaine nodded encouragingly, and his eyes widened and his smile broadened when Kurt began to sing, eyes glittering with joy, making Kurt feel as if he was something special, something beautiful curling from his lips and making someone else look as ecstatic as Blaine was before him.

_"On the willows, there, we hung up our lyres  
For our captors there required  
Of us songs and our tormentors mirth."_

Kurt started when Blaine reached out a hand to take his as their voices wove together for the end of the song, Sam taking over the guitar. He slid his fingers between Blaine's uncertainly, feeling the spark passing between their skin, giving Blaine an uncertain smile.

_"Saying, sing us one of the songs of Zion  
Sing us one of the songs of Zion  
But how can we sing - sing the Lord's songs?  
In a foreign land?"_

Their voices soared as they concluded the song, Blaine's finger laced into Kurt's and his smooth voice intertwined with Kurt's clear melody, complementing each other perfectly and gazing into each other's eyes as the final notes rippled through the silence.

_"On the willows, there  
We hung up our lyres."_

Applause broke the reverent silence, bringing Kurt back to reality, forcing him to look away from the burnished gold of Blaine's eyes, slowly breaking him apart, putting him back together better and brighter. "You have a beautiful voice," Blaine murmured, squeezing Kurt's hands and gazing deep into his eyes, Kurt shyly returning his sweet smile as that soft gold tugged at something deep within him. "Why have I never seen you here before?"

"Okay, that was Blaine Anderson performing for you all to open the festivities," Sam announced, drawing Kurt from his own idea of bliss, blinking back into the sunburnt grounds, swivelling around to face the crowds with a triumphant grin at the adulation they were receiving. "To all of you, enjoy yourselves, don't get too drunk, and stick to it if you've been nominated the designated driver. Remember, spring is the time for new beginnings. Perhaps some of us will find love in these crowds."

Glancing at Blaine out of the corner of his eye, Kurt was completely disarmed to find him already looking back, his eyes soft and glowing brighter than sunbeams. Clearing his throat, a flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, Kurt stood up and walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run off the stage, into the crowds, disappearing among the whirling skirts.

Footsteps followed him, strong fingers encircling his wrist and tugging him back, spinning him to face Blaine. "When can I see you again?" he asked, smile wide and hopeful. "Where do you live? I know a place with wonderful Italian food, we could set up something with a couple of my friends, not like a date at all."

Kurt glanced up into Blaine's eyes, memorising the warm, strong grip of his fingers around his wrist. "Anderson?" he asked softly. "Why do I know that name?"

He cast his mind back, remembering a grandiose house in the upper district, the path to the front door lined with cherry trees, a harsh voice snapping at him when he was a mere five years old and trying to collect the fallen pink blossoms, telling him to get off his property. The little boy with curls too wild for his tiny face, pouring the tiny flowers into Kurt's cupped hands through the bars of the iron gates, giving him a tiny smile before racing off at his father's call.

"You're their younger son, the one they threw out because they were ashamed of having a gay son!" Kurt exclaimed in shock, hardly able to believe that this man was standing in front of him, the one Kurt had almost punched Finn over. "I thought you were such an inspiration, I truly admired you. For a while, I daydreamed about finding you on the streets and inviting you to stay with us, my parents are so tolerant of my sexuality. They'd support you too."

"You're from the rich side of town?" Blaine asked softly, and Kurt nodded, looking away from him, praying that Blaine wouldn't think less of him. "You're so brave, to sneak over here past those new twenty-four hour patrolling guards. Is your pretty friend Puck's been eyeing up from the rich side too?"

"Yes, Rachel's one of my closest friends, and she's engaged to my brother, so you can tell this Puck to keep his hands off her," Kurt answered fiercely, and Blaine chuckled softly at him. Wishing fervently that it didn't have to be so, Kurt softly said, "We have to go, we may have to wait a while for the patrols to go past and let us slip through the part where the wall has crumbled away."

"Please say I can see you again," Blaine pleaded quietly. Kurt drew his lip anxiously between his teeth, his hands clasped in Blaine's, wondering if he could simply stay in these arms, locked into the heaven of those amber eyes.

"I'll slip over the wall again tomorrow afternoon, meet me by the flower stall," he murmured, and Blaine beamed at him, nodding fervently.

Before he allowed Kurt's hand to slip from his, Blaine tugged him in close and pressed the lightest kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dizzy with the sweetness of the brief touch, Kurt stumbled over his own feet as he ducked back into the crowd to seek Rachel out, feeling flushed and silly with the new warmth unfurling its gossamer wings in his heart.

* * *

Blaine watched Kurt go with a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, lips tingling with what they had briefly tasted of Kurt's warmth, chuckling under his breath when Kurt nearly stumbled over himself, as dizzy with their sudden meeting and instant connection as Blaine himself was. He gazed after the spot where he disappeared into the dust of the bright spring afternoon, allowing himself a wistful sigh and a moment of fantasy. Maybe Kurt would leave the brunette girl, who Puck had been eyeing up and down all day, much to Quinn's chagrin, and turn back for another kiss, this one centered squarely on Blaine's mouth, not caring how many looked and catcalled or inevitably wolf-whistled, only Blaine's.

"Did you snatch anything good from the rich little newly-weds?" Tina asked, appearing at his side with her hands deep in her pockets, a wicked smirk twisting her lips. "She had a gold chain on her wrist that she wasn't bothering to hide, so I grabbed it while she was dancing. Should fetch enough to feed us for another couple of weeks."

"Not newly-weds," Blaine murmured, ghosting his fingertips reverently over his lips. "She's engaged to his brother. He's gay. They came from the rich side because they disagree with the regime of that bastard Smythe. He knew my story, Tina. He knows who I am. He would've been willing to help me if he'd only found me before I was forced over here."

"You have a crush on him!" Tina exclaimed with wide, scandalised eyes. "Blaine, you can't do that. You know the laws. We can't marry the rich and they can't marry us. If you ever choose to settle down, you'll marry someone like Eli or Karofsky," both of them shudder at the mention of the name, "and he'll be courted by someone who can afford to give him six dozen flawless red roses and propose with something the size of a mountain that could free half this town from poverty. He'll forget about you, you can't get hung up on him! I know how hard you fall, sweetie. Remember Jeremiah?"

"That was different!" Blaine protested hotly, a flush rising in his cheeks. "I was fourteen, I'd just been thrown out of my own family and lost everything, he owned his own shop and he could obviously afford to help me, so I latched on like any sane person would. How was I supposed to know that serenading him would lead to getting punched by his jealous boyfriend and thrown out of his house?"

Quinn came staggering out of the crowd, throwing her head back with a laugh, the shoes that matched her hair dangling from her fingers as she dragged Puck over to them. "We're going to head home, if either of you want to join us," she said, flashing Blaine a winning smile. "Artie's minding Beth, but I'd rather go home to my baby girl now than wait out the acts. Only came for a bit of dancing and to see you sing, Blainey."

"You're going to see that pretty boy again, right?" Puck asked as the three of them left, Quinn bouncing along at Puck's side, accustomed to walking barefoot over the uneven ground. "His friend was pretty hot." When Quinn jabbed him in the side, he hastily added, "Though, of course, she can't even compare to you, baby."

"Save that for our daughter, darling," Quinn scolded, and Blaine smiled at the two of them sniping, fingers entwined at their sides as they walk together back to their house. Maybe one day, he'll be able to have that with someone. Kurt slid unbidden into his head, no matter how much he scolded himself for wanting what could never happen.

But Kurt, that strange boy with skin backlit by the moon and eyes swirling with colours and emotions, a riddle wrapped in a green sweater that looked so soft Blaine wanted to bury his face there and never let go, had captured his attention with a shy glance from beneath his lashes and the sheer haunting beauty of his voice, like he'd lost something long ago and had no way to get it back.

There could be no question that slender fingers sliding timidly between his and the warm curve of a palm that seemed familiar, despite knowing he had only seen this boy once before, were drawing Blaine towards the edge of a cliff, and he couldn't be more willing to simply fall.


End file.
